


There's only one bed

by thisroadsofar



Series: 12 Days of Wincestmas 2019 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12 Days of Wincestmas, Don’t copy to another site, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 04:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17359196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisroadsofar/pseuds/thisroadsofar
Summary: Fun fact: this is my first wincest fic.





	There's only one bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lady_simoriah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_simoriah/gifts).



Sam holds out his fist.

“Dude, no,” Dean protests. “I always lose that rock, paper, scissors shit. My back hurts, I call the bed.”

“Sorry you’re such an old man now,” Sam shoots back, to which Dean responds with his middle finger. Sam clears his throat. “We’re two grown adults, we can share a bed without making it weird.”

“Sorry I don’t wanna wake up to your hard-on poking my back.”

“Dude! That was, like, five years ago. I was 17. I always had a boner.”

“Yeah, that’s ‘cause you never get any action besides your right hand. Your dick’s not gonna behave if you treat him bad, Sammy.”

Sam rubs his forehead. “Oh my God, would you please stop talking?”

“You are one bossy bitch, Sammy,” Dean says, stripping down to his boxers and t-shirt. “Fine, I’ll share the bed with you, but keep it in your pants.”

Sam raises his eyebrow, taking off flannel and jeans in turn. “I’m not wearing any pants.”

Dean scrunches his face up. “Ew, you’re turning into me,” he says, pulling back the covers and climbing into bed, Sam following suit.

Unfortunately for them, it’s a full-sized mattress, and most definitely not made with two 6-foot plus guys trying not the cuddle.

“That’s my ass, Dean.”

“Oh, god, sorry. My hands have like, nowhere to go.”

“Turn the other way, dude.”

“But I’m not comfy facing that way.”

“Well if you’re gonna be such a bitch about it-” Sam flips over to face Dean.

“Well, now my hand’s by your dick,” Dean observes. “Way to make it awkward.”

“Oh for fucks-” Sam grabs Dean’s arm, guiding it none-too-gently to lay on Dean’s own ass. “That fucking simple. Go to sleep.” Sam closes his eyes, and Dean lays still. Sleep drifts over Sam, the long day finally catching up with him, and he lays blissfully in that state between wake and slumber. He shifts onto his back, sleepily smacking his lips. Something warm and heavy, but not necessarily uncomfortable, snuggles into his shoulder. He snuggles unconsciously back into it. Then something across his stomach. Then something across his leg— wait.

“Dean?” he says, blinking his eyes down at his brother - badass, no-nonsense, I-hate-chick-flicks Dean Winchester brother of his - cuddling up next to him.

“Shaddup, it’s cold,” is the only mumbled reply. Sam blinks more, confused, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking better of it and draping his arm around his brother’s waist, blissfully drifting back to sleep.

 

They wake up the next morning simultaneously, instantly jumping out of bed, already dead set on ignoring… whatever that was. They shower, pack up, and don’t say a damn word about it.

 

Another day, another monster, and Dean’s checking into their latest excuse for a living space. Sam’s grabbing their shit out of the trunk when Dean walks out of the check-in, kinda hunched over like he’s nervous about something. Sam cocks his head at him.

“They, uh. Only had a single bed available,” he says to the ground.

Sam blinks. “Oh.” He pauses, shifting the duffel higher up on his shoulder. “Share?” he says with shrug, and he swears he hears Dean’s heart lighten just at the thought of it.

 

It’s the same situation: doze off, cuddle, separate once awake, and it happens a few more times. Sam’s caught on, of course. Dean always insists on checking in, and there’s some places where the parking lot is nearly empty so there’s no way they’re out of double beds. So Sam makes a plan.

They’re in the middle of Kentucky somewhere when Dean stops at some actually half decent hotel, and Sam’s out the door before Dean even stops the car, practically sprinting toward the check-in. He looks back as he opens the door to Dean just sitting with his mouth open and plans foiled, blush rising on his cheeks. Which was a surprisingly cute look on Dean.

About ten minutes later Sam walks back to the Impala, hands in pockets and hunched over, faking his disappointment as best he can but he can’t quite wipe the smug smile off. Dean’s definitely not pretending his disappointed slouch into the Impala’s seat. “Get us a room?” He asked when Sam leans down to Dean’s window.

Sam clears his throat, trying to be serious. “Yeah, uh. They only had one room left.”

Dean straightens up considerably. “Single?”

Sam blushes, just a bit, suddenly unsure if he’s read Dean wrong this entire time. “Yeah, but it’s… yeah,” he ends lamely, patting the hood of the car.

Dean steps out of the car and goes to grab their duffels from the trunk. “Wow, thanks, Sam. That really cleared things up.”

“Shut up,” he responds, yanking his duffel from Dean and shoving him towards the stairs. He hands Dean the key once they reach the top of the stairs, ‘cause he definitely wants Dean to see the room first. The door creaks open and Dean walks in a few steps before he just— freezes, his duffel slowly sliding off his shoulder onto the ground.

Sam had gone a little overboard with the money and gotten them the nicest honeymoon suite in the joint, 'cause there’s no subtler way to let your brother know you’d like to bone him than low-lit lights and rose petals all over the bed and floor. Dean hasn’t moved, apparently still taking in the implications of what this means. Either that or he’s eyed the condoms on the nightstand and his brain has short-circuited.

Sam, meanwhile, has moved onto admiring more important things, like Dean’s ass. God, why hadn’t he spent more time staring at that thing? Fucking perfectly round cheeks that Sam really wants to sink his hands into. His eyes are drawn to Dean’s shoulders as he shifts them unconsciously. Dean starts to turn around to say something to deflect the incredibly thick sexual tension dripping all over the hotel room, but Sam’s having none of that, crowding up into Dean’s space and smashing his lips into Dean’s.

Sam sucks in the surprised gasp Dean makes and after that Dean just melts into him, his soft lips kissing back with a tenderness that in turn surprises Sam. Sam cups his head between his hands and deepens the kiss, licking along those plush lips until Dean sneaks his tongue out and entwines them together. Sam moans into his mouth and suddenly they’re on the bed, breathing into each other and clawing at each other’s shirts.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers as Sam latches on to his nipple the instant it’s exposed, and Sam quickly learns that’s pretty much the extent of Dean’s vocabulary when he’s like this. Sam lets his mouth run, all “yeah, baby, you like that?” and “fuck yeah, Dean c'mon, wanna hear you.” Dean moans in his ear nonstop once Sam gets their pants off, lining up their cocks and sliding them together, the intoxicating friction almost maddening. Sam’s longer, but the weight of Dean’s cock in his hand is just so perfect and Sam makes sure to let him know that, those constant little praises building as Dean rocks up into him until they finally climax together in the best not-actually-sex sex either of them has ever had.

Sam rolls to the side, both of them breathing heavily and just basking in their orgasm. Sam smirks and turns to Dean, saying, “I swear I meant to wine and dine you before I-”

“Had gay incest sex with me?” Dean finishes, blunt as ever. Sam busts out laughing and it’s Dean that kisses Sam unexpectedly this time, just a sweet little peck, but Sam knows it means everything.

“Thanks,” Dean says, cuddling into Sam’s side, not worried the mess or the rose petals stuck to his ass. Sam kisses the top of his hair as they drift off to sleep together.


End file.
